


I do not resemble your other lovers, my lady

by sapphireoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (the only au that matters), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chess, F/M, Flirting, Masturbation, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Stannis doesn't know how to flirt so he plays chess, Strip Chess, flustered!Stannis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireoftarth/pseuds/sapphireoftarth
Summary: His gaze is implacable, his fingers moving his remaining rook almost immediately, as if he knew she would get it- planned for it and his next move. Maybe he didn’t underestimate her after all.Sansa feels suddenly hot, her cheeks flushing at the compliment Stannis just paid her without saying a single word. She reaches for the hair tie on her wrist and sweeps her hair into a ponytail while she attempts to figure out if she can get him in check soon.Chess as flirting/foreplay? It’s more likely than you think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon? (No, this isn’t that other longer fic I mentioned. This is a new one. I’m Like This.) I have so much homework you would not even believe, and yet my creativity is deciding now is the time to run away from me?? This thing was supposed to be 3k, tops and then it just. wouldn’t. end. Anyways, backstory for this fic:
> 
> So my other fandom has this universal thing where chess is considered foreplay. Like I literally cannot explain the excess of chess as foreplay/flirting in fics. It has a basis in canon, but it’s one of those Things, you know? Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid writing it in that fandom, but here I am now.
> 
> It’s just….the most Stansa thing I’ve ever thought about in my entire life. Because Stannis is deliberate and doesn’t even know if Sansa will want him, and Sansa is curious about what he’s going to do. Warning, though: I’m actually terrible at chess and haven’t played in years so it’s all kind of *waves hands* and I’d like to apologize to anyone who actually plays chess. 
> 
> Also: I was sleep-deprived last week when I wrote most of this (thanks college) and don’t have a beta, so if there’s some weird turn of phrase or half a dozen typos, it’s completely my fault. This fic is complete, and it will all be up sometime within the next two weeks. 
> 
> Title from [this](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-compared/) poem, which is just really fitting for Stansa in general.

Sansa flicks her hair out of her eyes. If Arya just fumbles and makes a single wrong move, Sansa can trap her. Just if she moves her bishop  _ there- _ Sansa nearly allows her laughter to bubble up her throat and out her mouth, but she manages to rein it in at the last minute.

She looks up to see if Jon caught exactly how Arya played into her hands, but he’s off in the corner talking to Robb. Instead, Stannis has sat down in Jon’s chair. He catches her eyes and raises his eyebrow ever so slightly.

For some reason, they’ve never played chess together, even though Sansa plays just as often as her siblings. Bran plays Stannis. So does Arya, Jon, and Robb. Ned will occasionally deign to play Rickon, but he’s terrible at it and hasn’t won a game against his children in quite some time. It’s Cat that taught her children how to play and still quite regularly wipes the floor with them. 

Sansa can beat her every time, though. She knows the way her mother plays, even if Jon often throws up his hands in disgust at his inability to beat Cat. But Stannis- Stannis doesn’t play Sansa, and she’s never thought about it until now. Renly and Loras play with her, Robert doesn’t play, Myrcella does and is decent, and Shireen has played Sansa more times than she can count.

She returns her attention to the board and moves her rook forward three spaces, taking out Arya’s bishop.

“Shit,” Arya says loudly. 

Sansa smiles knowingly and proceeds to place her sister in checkmate in seven moves. 

“Fuck you, Sansa. I liked you better when you didn’t have this high horse to sit on.” Arya folds her arms and stares at her trapped king. She reaches out and pushes it over. “You win. Are you happy now? Will it ever be enough for you?”

Sansa folds her own arms, a smug grin on her face. “Nope.”

Arya makes a noise of disgust. “I’m going to go get more cake. Please, jerk off without me.”

Sansa is not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but she still blushes at her sister’s crudeness with Stannis present. She’s not entirely sure the man even believes in having sex. He’s so tight and in control of everything he does.

Stannis doesn’t say anything, though. He studies the board for a minute, leaning forward with his forearms resting on her thighs. Sansa chooses this exact moment to realize that he has nice hands. Nice arms too, where he’s rolled his dress shirt up. 

“Want to play me?” She blurts out suddenly, figuring that it’s as good an excuse as anything to look at his hands some more.

He looks slightly taken aback, but his scowl doesn’t move. 

“I just realized that you and I have never played. I’d like to, if you’re up for it?” Sansa feels a little uncertain. She and Stannis have never had reason to really talk, although he acknowledges her existence and is nominally polite- like he is with everyone else. 

“Yes,” he says curtly. “I’ll play you.”

He helps her reset the board, moving his hand away from hers carefully when they both reach for a pawn at the same time. She looks up to meet his eyes after the brief contact, but he’s intent on making sure the pieces are exactly positioned. 

“White?” Stannis asks, finally looking at her. 

“You start.” Sansa wants to get a sense for the way he thinks. He’s had years of watching her, after all, and she’s been busy with her own game or not around when he’s played her siblings. Come to think of it, he hasn’t played Cat. She wonders why for half a second before he nods.

They don’t speak, focusing wholly on the game. Sansa’s nearly always up for some healthy banter, but this is Stannis. She’s not sure he believes in banter. It’s fine, though. He’s a good player. Better than Arya, certainly. She knows he’s beaten Jon a number of times, but it’s not a matter of contention between them.

Sansa feels giddiness rise up to break her concentration when Stannis leaves the bishop he’s been nursing wide open. She forces herself to pause, though. It’s a trap- it must be. She spends close to five minutes deliberating, and he lets her without comment. 

She catches what he’s about, finally. She smiles at him when the light dawns. “Going for my queen?” she asks, sliding her pawn forward instead of her knight. “I’m better than that, Stannis.”

His gaze is implacable, his fingers moving his remaining rook almost immediately, as if he knew she would get it- planned for it and his next move. Maybe he didn’t underestimate her after all. 

Sansa feels suddenly hot, her cheeks flushing at the compliment Stannis just paid her without saying a single word. She reaches for the hair tie on her wrist and sweeps her hair into a ponytail while she attempts to figure out if she can get him in check soon.

She calls check twice before she actually traps Stannis. Not her best game, but certainly an engaging one. 

Stannis raises his eyebrows when she says, “Check and mate.”

“So it is,” he replies. He reaches out to shake her hand, his grip firm as his fingers wrap around hers. It’s a rule in the Stark-Baratheon chess games. Being a good sport and all that. Gods, his hands feel just as nice- maybe nicer- than they look. “Well played, Sansa.”

“Wait, hold up.” Jon saunters over, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Did you finally play Stannis?”

“I beat him,” Sansa says, her smile feeling not quite as smug as it was with Arya, but still. She beat Stannis on her first try. It feels good. Something else is curling in her gut- something that she is not naming, not now and certainly not  _ here. _ She suppresses the feeling and releases Stannis’s hand.

“So you did,” Stannis says dryly. “Would you like to play, Jon?”

Robb’s wandered over too, his beer in hand. “You shouldn’t play Sansa if you want to pretend to still have dignity in the morning,” he says. “She beats Mom. No one beats Mom.”

“Your uncle used to,” Stannis says, his voice unusually abrupt even for him. “Brandon Stark could beat your mother blindfolded. She could do it, too. They were quite an even match at chess.”

Sansa is suddenly hit with the image of playing blindfolded chess with Stannis. Then her brain decides to progress to thoughts of being blindfolded doing other, sexier things and  _ nope _ she is  _ not _ about to start lusting after  _ Stannis Baratheon  _ in front of her brothers. This is not happening.

She stands. “Well, I wonder if I could have beat Uncle Brandon. Since I can beat Mom.”

Stannis swallows, his eyes steady on her face. His jaw flexes ever so slightly before he answers, and she wonders what exactly he’s thinking about behind those perpetually scowling facial features.

“You might have,” is all he says.

“Thanks again!” Sansa says cheerfully before practically running up the basement stairs to the kitchen so she can get a beer of her own and forget the way Stannis wouldn’t stop  _ looking _ at her. If she didn’t know better, she might think that there was a reason for it. But he’s an intense man and furthermore a quiet one. Shireen has never said a word against him, and he’s never abrupt or rude towards her, though. 

He’s just hard to read, and as someone who can read people so well she’s gotten in trouble for it, Sansa feels frustrated. Not that she should. Reading anything into a game of chess with Stannis is probably stupid.

She manages to work herself into a state, standing in the kitchen and nursing her beer. Her mother finds her when she comes in to get some water.

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” Cat raises an eyebrow. “Has my social butterfly suddenly lost her wings?”

“I’m just thinking,” Sansa replies, taking a long pull of her beer. She shifts her position to lean against the counter a little more comfortably. “I played a game of chess with Stannis.” She has no clue why she’s telling her mother this. She just feels off tonight, for some stupid reason.

“Oh?” Cat pauses with her glass halfway to her mouth. “Did he beat you?”

Sansa scoffs. “You raised me better than that.” 

“Then why are you in such a mood?” Cat knows her daughter too well, after nineteen years under the same roof and a thousand times crying into her shoulder.

“He complimented me.” Sansa doesn’t know how to explain properly, so she that’s all she says.

“Stannis?” Cat’s eyebrows rise high enough Sansa knows she’ll have to elaborate.

She explains, leaving out the part where she blushed. 

Cat makes a noise in the back of her throat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting with you. Brandon did that sometimes, tried to make me feel clever.” She snorts a little. “Your father just tells me I’m clever.”

Sansa feels odd. It’s not like her family avoids talking about her dead uncle, just that she’s never heard so much about him in a single night. She doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that or the fact that her mother thinks  _ Stannis _ might have been flirting with her.

He might have been, in his own way. 

Gods. Flirting by playing chess. Sansa shouldn’t feel so fluttery at the thought. She shouldn’t be feeling anything  _ fluttering _ when it comes to Stannis Baratheon. He’s not unattractive at all, just not pretty like her past boyfriends. But he’s Robert’s brother, and has been divorced for a very long time. He’s just- not someone Sansa ever thought would be interested in anyone, much less her.  _ He _ isn’t someone she ever thought she would be interested in. He’s just always been Stannis. 

This is all really stupid and she’s half-regretting playing that game of chess with him. Only half, though. The other half of herself is wondering if she should find him and ask to play him again sometime, or maybe- maybe she should flirt back.

No. Sansa is not going to flirt overtly with Stannis. Not when he complimented her in a chess game. If she decides she’s doing anything, she’s being just as subtle.

Cat still has her eyebrows raised. “Struck dumb at the thought of Stannis flirting with you? Stranger things have been known to happen.”

Sansa shakes her head slightly. “Nothing about how we’ve known him forever or the age gap or whether or not I want to flirt back? Just- you’re just going to stand there with that look on your face and talk calmly about how you’re pretty sure  _ Stannis _ is  _ flirting _ with me?”

“I didn’t say he was. I said he might be. And you’re a grown woman. You can flirt with whoever you want to. Stannis is a good man, despite his tendency to be blunt to the point of rudeness. Your father is ten years older than me. I hardly think fourteen is out of the realm of possibility, if you’re actually interested.”

Sansa thinks maybe she’s slipped into some alternate reality. Stannis might be flirting with her and her mother is practically giving her blessing. She drinks the last bit of her beer while she attempts to process this.

Stannis chooses that exact moment to emerge from the basement, Jon and Robb on his heels. “Is Shireen upstairs?” he asks, without so much as a preamble.

Sansa quickly turns around so she can rinse out her beer bottle in the sink. She does eventually have to face the people in the kitchen- Stannis included- but she lingers at the recycling can, hoping he’ll leave so she can have time to properly process the information presented to her tonight.

“No, I just saw her in the living room,” Cat replies. “I heard you finally played Sansa.”

Sansa kind of wants to kill her mother for a split second. Not actually kill her- just- why did she have to say that? Now Sansa  _ has _ to turn around, but she’s twenty-five. Not a child. She can handle this.

Stannis is looking at her when she turns around, but his eyes move to her mother nearly immediately. “She is very good.”

Sansa thinks her heart is pounding too fast. A second compliment? “Thank you,” she says as calmly as she can manage.

“It was merely a statement of fact,” Stannis says abruptly. “Shireen and I need to be going.”

Cat gives her daughter a  _ look _ as he walks by that makes Sansa want to squirm like she’s three years old. She should not have told her mother about this. Cat is going to be  _ insufferable _ now.

“Not a word.” Sansa glares at her mother. “Not a single word more.  _ If _ anything happens, I’ll tell you. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Cat laughs. “My lips are sealed.”

*

The next time the Starks and the Baratheons are in the same place, it’s been three weeks- not that Sansa’s counting. They’re at Robert’s and his chess set is missing the white queen and the black knight, so it’s a little useless to ask Stannis to play again.

Except Myrcella pulls out the set she hides in her room and starts a game with Robb, who gets thoroughly beaten. Stannis is watching, like he nearly always does, so Sansa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Care for a rematch?”

Stannis nods.

This time, he seems overly careful not to touch her as they reset the board. Sansa’s beginning to think there’s actually something going on. The game is faster than the last one, but they end up in a standoff after placing each other in check two times each.

Stannis actually lets out a huff that might be a laugh when they’re down to a knight each and their kings. 

Sansa smiles in return. “Good game,” she says, and reaches across the board to shake his hand. He doesn’t appear to have expected her to initiate the handshake, though, staring at her hand for close to thirty-seconds before taking it.

They watch Robb and Jon play, which is always a riot. It’s impossible for them to play without devolving into taunts and jabs at each other. Sansa is laughing at Jon’s sudden interest in a pawn Robb is doing nothing with and the elaborate story he’s weaving about it when she looks up to notice Stannis watching her. He doesn’t look away, just meets her eyes for a long minute. Sansa’s never thought about the shade of blue his eyes are, but they’re darker than hers- a color she hasn’t really seen before. Shireen’s are brown, like Selyse’s. Sansa wonders about the genetics behind such a dark shade of blue for a split second, and then Robb yells something obscene that makes her glance down at her brother’s grin.

When she looks back at Stannis, the moment is gone. He’s watching what Jon is doing with his remaining rook. She doesn’t catch him looking at her again that afternoon, which is all the same, because Margaery shows up for some reason and does her best to make herself the center of attention.

Sansa isn’t above approaching men, but Stannis isn’t exactly the type of man she normally goes for, and she’s very interested to see exactly what he’s about. She’s a patient woman, and he isn’t one to rush into anything without premeditation, so she’s just going to bide her time and play more chess.

They don’t have reason to see each other again until the Baratheon Christmas party, a month later. Sansa might be counting now. She’s intrigued by whatever Stannis is doing and quite willing to play along. She’d never thought about him before, but now that’s she’s started, she somehow can’t stop. She wonders if he thinks about her, planning his next subtle move. Which is bad, really, that she’s wondering what he’s thinking. She might have a problem.

Sansa resolves to act like everything is normal, though. If he wants to make his interest even clearer, she’s going to let him. She’s not above wearing a dress that clings to everyone of her curves, though. If all Stannis is going to do is look at her, she might as well give him a good time of it. 

She spends half the evening with Olenna Tyrell, who she knows Stannis hates, so he won’t approach her, but the old woman is witty and sharp and fun to be around. Besides, Olenna might be offering Sansa a job. Sansa’s only managed to find work as an entry-level law clerk since she got out of law school and is eager to do something that isn’t drudge work. She knows she could get a job in minutes if she got her father involved, but she wants to make her own way as much as she can.

Olenna gives her a business card and tells her to call anytime after the holidays. “I’m sure we have a use for a smart young thing like you,” she says. “Now leave me be. I have grandchildren to harass.”

Sansa smiles. “Thank you,” she says again. She stands, smoothing out her dress, and glances over to where Stannis is standing in a corner by himself, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. She waits five seconds before his gaze slides across the room to her. He lingers for a moment, takes a drink of what’s probably water, and keeps moving, as if he wasn’t planning on seeking her out.

She gets waylaid by her cousin Robin, who decides she’s the perfect person to hear all about his newest fascination with birds. His mother hovers behind him the entire time, constantly watching to see if anything upsets her darling boy. Sansa’s not even sure she wants to be a mother, and she feels she could do a better job raising Robin than Aunt Lysa. The woman coddles him and treats him as if he’s still a toddler half the time. It’s even more absurd now that he’s twelve.

Thankfully, Cat approaches and saves Sansa, for which she is given a look of intense relief.

Sansa keeps catching Stannis looking at her as she progresses through greetings and various handshakes. He’s engaged in a few conversations of his own, but he still seeks her out with his eyes over and over again. Not that she isn’t doing the same, but a hot thrill goes down Sansa’s spine. He is definitely interested in her, no matter that he’s playing the long game.

Cat notices and starts making eyebrows at Sansa every chance she gets, which is really not to be born.

Sansa actually marches up to her mother after the desserts have been brought out and hisses at her to stop, to which Cat just chuckles and asks if they’re going to talk any time this century. Ned is standing next to her, and Sansa is absolutely not getting her father involved, so she just says, “I’m a grown woman, Mom,” and leaves to get a brownie. 

It’s another month before it’s Ned’s birthday and they’re all gathered again. Sansa walks up to Stannis where he’s sitting in the living room on his phone- probably doing work of some kind, knowing him- and informs him that he owes her a game.

“I wasn’t aware I owed you anything,” he replies, but stands up and follows her into the kitchen anyways. 

For once, their families haven’t split into the groups they normally do, and they’re all hanging out in the kitchen. Sansa hesitates for approximately five seconds before setting the chess set down on the dining room table. Cat does something with her eyebrows that her daughter deliberately pays no attention to and sits down so she has a full view of the action. 

Then Ned is at her back and Robert’s crowded beside him and Jon’s sitting down next to Stannis, Arya forcing her way onto her brother’s lap despite there being plenty of open chairs and Sansa- Sansa is regretting her decision. Stannis won’t do anything with so many people watching.

She deliberately brushes knuckles with him as she sets two of his pawns down. A muscle in his jaw jumps and he pulls away as if he’s been burnt- as if her skin can set him on fire.

Sansa’s own skin is starting to feel tingly. Flirting with Stannis while so many people- people she does  _ not _ want involved in this- are watching feels somehow illicit. Touching him makes his control waver, and that is enough for her to feel powerful. No matter who wins this game, she’s going to push him into saying or doing something. It’s been months. Long enough. 

Everyone except for her is convinced she’s going to win. Robb keeps shouting for her to just wipe the floor with Stannis already, and Arya is giving her eyebrows.

Sansa plays at her own pace. Neither her nor Stannis talk. She has him in check when she catches the slightest tilt of his mouth. She knows that she’s fucked the moment she sees it. Stannis doesn’t smile, not for anything.

He edges her into corners methodically, his hands steady as Sansa loses piece after piece. Her attention is elsewhere tonight, she knows it, but she can’t stop thinking about how long his fingers are and how intense he must be in bed if he’s like this every day. 

Gods, Stannis just took her queen and the coil of arousal low in her belly is going nowhere. Her entire family is watching. Bran is at her elbow, for heaven’s sake. She forces herself to think for more than two minutes before she makes a move, but she can feel Stannis’ eyes on her. She hopes that everyone thinks the flush on her cheeks is from the number of people in such a small space and doesn’t see it for what it is.

“Arya, will you get me some water please?” Sansa asks, her mouth feeling parched. Arya huffs but gets her a glass anyways.

Sansa takes a long drink, certain Stannis is still watching her. It’s doing absolutely nothing to help her situation. She sets her glass down carefully, looking straight at the board and not at the way his shirt stretches across his chest. 

He wins, because there’s no other outcome when Sansa’s so distracted. Her siblings yell at her that she’s slipping and next thing they know she’ll be losing to Rickon. She doesn’t pay attention, just takes Stannis’ hand and shakes it. He looks her in the eyes, blue into blue, and Sansa removes her hand sooner than she would like because if she doesn’t leave she’s going to haul him across the table and kiss him in front of everyone.

She practically runs to the bathroom, needing to be alone. Her heart is loud in her ears, her hands shaking as she locks the door. She unzips her jeans and shoves her hand inside her underwear, hissing as her fingers slide over her aching clit. 

Sansa can’t stop thinking about what Stannis’ fingers would feel like, his voice low and deep in her ear. Her head hits the bathroom door, and she can’t even be bothered to think if anyone hears. She bites her lip when she comes after a frantic minute of touching herself, staggering to the sink to wash her hands. She has half a mind to walk out with her orgasm still etched on her face and make Stannis see her like this. Maybe then he’d buckle. 

But both their families are out there, and she really does look a filthy picture, her hair mussed and her lip swollen. She realizes when she’s drying her hands that her jeans are still unbuttoned, her pink underwear on display. She buttons them, trying to figure out if enough time has elapsed that no one will guess what she’s been doing.

Her cheeks are still a little pink, but besides that, she’s fine. It’s not like she just jerked off after a game of chess with a man she hasn’t even really talked to. Not like that at all.

Sansa’s forehead meets the cool glass of the mirror, trying to figure out exactly where she stands right now. Does she really want to continue to be the most sexually frustrated she’s been since she was twelve and going through the throes of puberty? Maybe she does. Stannis is fascinating. The way he’s being so slow and careful- it’s kind of sweet, really. 

She’s not going to do shit, she thinks. Besides maybe get a vibrator. She’s been meaning to get one for awhile anyways.

Yes. Vibrator. Chess with Stannis. Waiting. 

“Fuck,” she says quietly.

Bran knocks on the door just then. “Sansa? We’re going to do the cake in just a minute.”

“Okay,” she yells. “Just give me a second.”

Stannis stands next to Jon and Shireen when they sing Happy Birthday, his eyes leaving Sansa only when she catches him at it. She wonders if he’s guessing why she left so abruptly, or if he knows. He might. 

Sansa holds her head a little higher and offers to help Robb cut the cake and serve ice cream. Stannis doesn’t partake and instead sits with Shireen and Bran while they devour their plates. Sansa wishes he was one for sweets so she could have an excuse to touch him again, however fleetingly.

Robert’s birthday is almost exactly a month after Ned’s. This gives Sansa some time to plan, because she’s figured out by now that Stannis is waiting for her to make a sign that she wants him. He’s too unsure, which is stupid, really, considering how many people he intimidates on the daily. 

But maybe it’s not so stupid. He isn’t exactly the most charming of men, and she’s never heard a single hint of a girlfriend since his divorce. His marriage lasted just long enough to produce a child, the papers signed before Shireen was eating solid foods.

Sansa decides she’s going to tell him what she did after the last chess game. It’s time they properly talked. 

So she takes a post-it and writes two sentences on it before folding it into a smaller square and shoving it in her bra. It absolutely cannot get lost in her purse.

Their game at Robert’s party is better. Sansa is paying attention this time, her focus where it should be. She does not allow her eyes to linger on his hands or anything of the sort. She beats him, shakes his hand, and stands up to go get cake. 

“Oh,” she says, as if she hasn’t rehearsed this moment a hundred times in the privacy of her apartment. “I have something for you.”

Stannis raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Sansa turns around for half a second to fish the post-it from her bra, holding it between her index and middle fingers like a cigarette. She spins back around and slaps it on the table, feeling as if her movements are exaggerated and too big, but she can’t care when Stannis is realizing where she was keeping the post-it. The look on his face is absolutely priceless. 

She waits for half a second as he picks up the small purple square, but the moment he starts to unfold it, her courage gives out on her and she leaves. 

Sansa is halfway through her slice of cake when Stannis practically stalks up to her. She’s talking to Loras about their new kitchen curtains, which isn’t the most interesting thing in the world, but it’s not as bad as Robert trapping his namesake and regaling him with tales of his sexual exploits.

“I need to talk to Sansa,” he says.

“Well, you can have her when I’m done.” Loras laughs and pulls out his phone, ready to show her pictures, but Sansa is already walking down the hall with Stannis, her cake in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for leaving y'all hanging, but there was no good place for a chapter break except right there ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I am drowning in homework and also having one of those moods where I feel insecure about everything I write, so if you'd like to tell me what you liked about this, I would really appreciate it! I'm hoping to have the next bit up sometime this weekend, but no promises.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to have this part up this weekend after all, but the stars aligned, so you got lucky!
> 
> Here’s a fun story about me: I’m responsible for ao3 getting blocked- for adult content- on my college wifi. I posted the first part of this fic on Tuesday while at the library, and Wednesday nothing would load but I thought it was just my phone being stupid. Then I got on my laptop Thursday and got the official message. My one friend asked me what I’d been reading in a fake-shocked tone of voice, suggesting all manner of nsfw content, and I had to tell her it was nothing more than a single masturbation scene that I wrote. 
> 
> It’s simultaneously one of the most iconic things I’ve ever done and one of the worst things, because my college is in a data dead zone, so reading fic between classes is going to be limited now :/ But like. This is a college?? We’re pretty much all adults?? I’ve ficblocked hundreds of other students who also read fic in before/between classes and I wish I could apologize to them all. Rip in pieces, fellow fic lovers. I did it to bring more fic into this world. 
> 
> Anyways, I finished editing everything over the weekend, so part 3 should be up soonish?

Stannis doesn’t say a single word until they’re in Robert’s study and he’s shut the door behind him. Sansa’s practically tingling with anticipation, but she calmly takes another bite of her cake and asks Stannis what he wants.

He waves the post-it at her. “What, exactly, is this supposed to mean?”

Sansa loads her fork again, but pauses before lifting it to her mouth. “I’m not lying, if that’s what you’re asking.” She takes the bite, chewing carefully while Stannis’ face turns an interesting shade of red.

“You’re missing out,” she says casually, as his jaw works and no words come out. “This cake is delicious.”

He looks down at the paper in his hand, his fingers smoothing out the lines from where she folded it. “Sansa,” he says slowly. “Are you seriously talking about cake after handing me this?”

“Yes.” She takes another bite.

“Sansa.”

“Yes?” She has two bites left. Stannis is going to wait until she’s done with her damn cake, thank you very much.

Sansa looks up to see an even stranger expression on his face than the one five minutes ago

“You are telling me,” he enunciates every syllable, “that you went in the bathroom and- and masturbated because you were turned on by _playing chess_ with me.”

“What can I say?” One more bite left. “I like a man who knows how to use his brain _and_ his hands.”

Stannis makes a choked noise in the back of his throat.

“Now,” Sansa says, cleaning her fork with her tongue- well aware of how obscene it looks. “You’re going to lock the door and fuck me on Robert’s desk. If you’re willing, of course.”

That same noise. “With my daughter, brothers, and your entire family twenty feet down the hall? Here?”

Maybe it was too much. Maybe she broke him. “We can arrange some other time, if you would prefer. Or we could go on a date first and pretend that you aren’t going to fuck my brains out afterwards.”

Stannis runs his hand through what little hair he has. “I think I’m dreaming,” he mutters.

Sansa sets her plate down on the desk and steps closer to him. She takes his face in her hands and rises on her toes ever so slightly to kiss him- it’s not so far, her height coming in handy. It takes him a moment to respond and kiss her back, but once he does, his hand drops to the small of her back and pulls her closer to him. His tongue slides against her own, slick and heady.

She pulls away after a minute, panting. “If you don’t want to fuck me right now, I suggest you stop kissing me like that.”

Stannis’ jaw clenches. “I refuse to have sex in my brother’s study, much less his house.”

“It’s not like he’d offer you the same courtesy.” Sansa arches an eyebrow and places her hands on his chest.

He actually smiles. No teeth, but his mouth moves into what could properly be considered a smile. “That’s true.”

Sansa stares at him, trying to process the fact that Stannis is _smiling_ at something she said. She’s never felt so powerful in her entire life. She wonders exactly what he’d do if she was naked in front of him.

“Okay,” she says slowly, relishing the way he holds her cheek in his hand. “What about Chinese, and then chess at my place afterwards?”

“Shireen will be with her mother this weekend,” Stannis says, by way of an answer.

“So, chess at your place afterwards?”

“Yes. Chess.” He’s looking at her in a way that has her breath hitching.

She steps away, picking up her plate carefully. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them that you wanted to ask me something about Shireen. I mean, unless you want to advertise the fact that you’re going to be doing something besides undressing me with your eyes?”

Stannis grinds his teeth. “I’m not inclined to inform anyone, no.”

Sansa holds out her hand. “I’ll give you my number so we can work out the details.”

He looks at her blankly for a moment before she says, “The post-it, your phone, something.”

He hands her the post-it and watches as she takes a pen from Robert’s desk and scribbles the digits of her phone number on the back.

“Oh,” she says, handing it back to him- relishing the feeling of his fingers on hers- “I should tell you that my mom knows about this.”

Stannis shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “She is aware you are sexually propositioning me?”

“Well, no. I just meant that I told her about that first chess game. And she noticed you watching me at the Christmas party. She’s been absolutely insufferable. Do you know how many times she’s made eyebrows at me in the last few months?”

“I do not,” he says dryly. “But I have met Catelyn, and I can imagine.”

“Yes.” Sansa stares at him briefly before walking to the door. “I’m still not going to tell her anything, but she’ll probably figure it out. She’s not an idiot and she knows what she’s looking for. She won’t tell anyone, though. It’s Robb and Arya that we should actually worry about, if anything. I figure Shireen should be left to your discretion.”

“This is not just sex?” There’s something in Stannis’ voice she can’t quite identify.

“If you want sex, you’re dating me. I don’t do friends with benefits. If you were flirting with me by playing chess, I know you’re not just interested in my body anyways.”

He swallows, his throat working for a moment. “You are correct in your observations. I was uncertain if- I did not know if you would even be interested. I am not- you are younger than I am.”

“Stannis. We need to reappear, or everyone will start thinking we’re actually having sex in here. We can have this conversation later. I do want to have it. Text me, call me, something. But I’m leaving to go look at Renly and Loras’ new curtains right now.”

“You’re right,” he says, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Sansa reemerges in the kitchen, brushing Loras’ insistent questions off. “It was something about Shireen. Girl stuff.” She refuses to elaborate, but catches Stannis’ eye as he goes to play chess with Myrcella. He raises an eyebrow- all the acknowledgement he’ll offer her in front of their family members- and sits down at the dining room table.

She smiles a little to herself and offers approving noises to Loras.

Stannis doesn’t text her for two days. Sansa’s beginning to wonder if he’s getting cold feet when she gets a text from an unknown number in the middle of a meeting. She knows it’s from him, but Olenna is sitting across from her and will know that Sansa’s been on her phone in a meeting, so she doesn’t reply.

The second she’s on her lunch break, she grabs her egg salad sandwich from the fridge and removes herself to her desk. She does not want to be disturbed.

_I confess that I did not text you because I was- and still am- unsure what I should say._

Sansa smiles. Stannis being awkward and flustered is an adorable image, but she’s not going to tell him that. He’d probably get mad.

_Stannis_

_You could talk to me about the weather and I’d probably be okay with that_

_I mean I would prefer that you didn’t because that’s nearly all I talk about at work being (for all appearances) a single woman with no children_

It takes him three minutes to reply. She chews her sandwich and waits, her nails tapping on the screen of her phone.

_You did say we could discuss the nature of our relationship. I would prefer to have that conversation before anything else._

_Fair enough_

_I’m on my lunch break right now but if you don’t mind chewing noises I could go outside and call you?_

_I do not want to interrupt you. What time do you get off work?_

_Depends how long Olenna wants me to stay, but usually 5:30_

_Never later than 7_

_You?_

_I should be home at 6:30. However, Shireen is with me and I cannot spare time until nine._

A long two minutes passes before Stannis sends another text.

_I was unaware you were employed by the Tyrells._

Sansa starts in on her cucumber slices, trying to figure out exactly what _that_ means.

_Nine is fine! Just call me whenever I’m not doing anything tonight besides laundry_

_And I wasn’t aware that it needed to be mentioned_

_I was under the impression you were working as a clerk. I am glad you have a better job now. That is all._

Stannis is glad for her. Happy. Something fizzes inside of her and she smiles at her phone.

Asha from accounting decides to lean around the corner just then. “What’s got you so happy today?”

“My sister sent me a joke.” Sansa has lied to protect men before, but this isn’t like that. She’s lying to protect a fragile new thing that she actually wants to go somewhere.

Asha quirks an eyebrow. “Alright. Have fun sitting at your desk and texting your sister.” She makes a noise that might be a scoff and walks away.

Sansa turns back to her phone.

_Thank you that’s really sweet_

Five, six, seven minutes before Stannis replies.

_I do not think I have ever been referred to as “sweet” before._

_Well now you have_

_Sansa, do you believe in punctuation? I ask only because you treat it so flippantly._

_1.You’re off topic 2. Yes I do but this is texting I don’t give a-_ Sansa pauses to debate whether or not she should swear, but she’s rather over people telling her it’s not ladylike- _shit 3. Like literally it doesn’t matter it’s just messages into the void_

_1\. I do not receive compliments often enough to properly respond. 2. It is a written conversation nonetheless. 3. I was unaware that I am the void, whatever that means._

Sansa laughs.

_Thank you for the void comment you made me laugh_

_I know it’s a conversation it’s just a different kind of one_

_If this was email I would use proper punctuation and all that but it isn’t so I refuse_

_I just mean that it’s a more casual thing and I try not to worry about things that are unnecessary_

_Okay I have ten minutes left on my break and I’d like to take a walk to stretch my legs because I have two more meetings to get through ttyl_

She’s curious exactly what kind of fits Stannis will go into about text talk. It feels odd to tease a man like Stannis Baratheon, but she wants to know that he’s not going to pull stupid shit. She needs to know that he actually likes her enough to deal with no punctuation while texting. She knows he doesn’t like it, but it’s the way she likes to text, and she’s not going to change for a man. Fucking pissbaby Joffrey tried to edit every little thing about Sansa- he even had her half convinced she needed plastic surgery.

She stands up and stretches. If Stannis is going to take another eight minutes to respond because he’s working, fine by her. She’s got a walk to take. If she thinks about him the entire time, that’s fine.

His texts back are so Stannis, she has to stifle a laugh.

_If this were more formal, then perhaps I would insist on email as our form of communication._

_I hope your meetings go well._

When Sansa gets home, she refuses to stand around and stare at her phone, waiting for him to call her. She does laundry and watches tv and makes her lunch for tomorrow. She’s over waiting for men.

Stannis calls her at 9:04 and immediately apologizes for being late.

“It’s fine, Stannis. I was doing laundry, remember? Did everything go alright with Shireen?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a moment. “She’s in her room doing homework. I am unlikely to be disturbed.”

“If you need to go be with her or something, I’m not going to be bothered. Your daughter is absolutely more important than me.” Sansa stares at the pile of folded clothes that she’s been procrastinating putting away and heaves a sigh. “I’m putting away clothes, so if you hear odd noises, that’s why.”

“Would it be better if I called back later?”

“No, it’s fine. I like having something to do with my hands while I’m on the phone.”

“Very well.” Another long pause. “Thank you for saying that about Shireen. I- I hope that- Shireen is very- she’s important to me, and I refuse to interact with people who don’t respect that.”

“Of course I respect that. I don’t know if I want kids of my own, but I think they’re very important and should come first.” She hauls herself off her couch and grabs the pile of work blouses she needs to hang up. “So about this thing. Us. Whatever you want to call it. Do you want to start or should I?”

“I am not very eloquent,” Stannis says. “But it would seem that you have talked more about your own-” he clears his throat- “feelings than I have.”

Sansa pulls a hanger off the rod in her closet. “I’m all ears.”

“Our families have known each other a long time,” he starts. “I need to know that my age is not a problem- that your age is not a problem.”

“I think it has the potential to be a problem,” she replies, reaching for another blouse. “If we let it. I mean, I’m okay with you being older. I like the idea of a more stable man. You know something of my boyfriend history, having been around for most of my life, and they’ve all been complete assholes, so. Yeah. I’m fine if you are.”

“I did-” His breathing seems somehow harsher than it was a minute ago, and Sansa hopes that he’s not too nervous to finish the conversation. It’s odd to hear Stannis being so vulnerable, but she feels flattered that he’s making the effort. “I am concerned-”

“Whatever you have to say, I’ve heard worse.” She switches her phone to her other ear. “And I’m not going to get mad at you for not being eloquent or whatever. I’ve had enough pretty words for a lifetime. I like that you’re blunt.”

“I confess that I have wanted you for quite some time,” he says, all in a rush. Sansa has never heard him like this before. “You were significantly younger the first time I- I looked at you.”

“Oh. You think you’re coming off as creepy?”

A long exhale. “Yes. I am also concerned about your family.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re creepy. And secondly, I’ll handle them,” she says confidently. “I’m an adult and I can date whoever I want.”

“Yes.” Another pause. “You want to date me.” There’s something like disbelief in Stannis’ voice, despite the conversation they’ve just had. She wonders what happened to make him so insecure. She’d rather have that conversation in person, though.

“Stannis,” she says slowly. “I do. I’ve told you this already. My answer isn’t going to change. Now, does Friday or Saturday work better for you?”

“Friday.”

“Chinese and chess afterwards still sound good?” Sansa hangs up the last blouse and walks back into her living room to get her stack of pajamas.

“Yes. Is there a specific place you would like to go, or would you like me to choose?”

She shoves her bras and underwear on top of the pile. “I don’t want to go somewhere really fancy, but I refuse to accept Panda Express. Do you know the place on the corner of Third and Weirwood?”

“I do not.”

“I’ll text you the address. What time would be good? Seven?” She hopes Stannis doesn’t mind her taking charge. He just seems so flustered she figures it would be better if she handles their first date, at the very least.

“Seven is good. Should I make a reservation?”

“Stannis, they don’t do reservations. Half their money comes from takeout. I don’t want fancy. I hope that’s alright with you?”

“It’s fine.”

There’s a long silence where they just listen to each other breathe. There’s two more piles of clothing still sitting on Sansa’s couch but she doesn’t particularly want to move now.

“Just so you know,” she says finally. “Flirting by playing chess was subtle and hot and I loved it, if I didn’t already make myself clear enough.”

Stannis makes that weird huffing laugh noise. “I’ve never been very good with women. I didn’t want to- I wanted to make sure you knew my intentions without being creepy. I wanted to let you rebuff me as easily and painlessly as possible.”

“Well, it turned out well.” She stares at her carpet, thinking that Friday night can’t come soon enough.

“It did,” he says quietly, after another long silence.

“I’m glad,” Sansa replies.

He clears his throat. “Good evening, Sansa.”

“Have a good night, Stannis.” She waits, a smile on her face, listening to him breathe.

“I look forward to seeing you Friday,” he says, and then hangs up.

It’s not anything like what she used to dream about when she was a child. But Stannis’ intentions came from a place of respect. That’s something sixteen year-old Sansa had never even thought of.

She flops on her bed, unable to stop smiling. She has a date with a man she knows will never do a single thing to hurt her, and he cared about her own feelings enough to wait until she came to him.

She has a good feeling about this.

*

Time seems to drag interminably on Thursday. Friday is even worse because Margaery calls Sansa on her lunch break and tries to convince her to cough up details about her mysterious date and then Sansa is thinking about seeing Stannis- about going on a _date_ with him, and _chess_ afterwards- and can barely concentrate for the rest of the day.

She taps her fingers on her steering wheel as she sits in traffic on the way home, trying to decide if the outfit she picked out this morning is terrible or still worth putting on. By the time she pulls into the parking lot of her apartment complex, she’s scrapped that outfit and three more.

Sansa unlocks her apartment and dumps her keys in her purse, sighing. Her entire wardrobe is about to be strewn across her bed, which is exactly what she was hoping to avoid, but she’s ended up here anyways, so better to start now than in twenty minutes.

Ten outfits later, she’s decided on a nice sweater and one of the only casual pencil skirts she owns. She stares at herself in the mirror, turning to see how nice her ass looks. She hums approvingly.

Sansa gets there ten minutes early, not wanting to be late, but Stannis is already at a table inside, because of course he is.

“Hi,” she says, sliding into the booth across from him. “You’re early.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So are you.”

She dumps her purse next to her, taking the time to see exactly what Stannis thought was appropriate attire for their first date. He’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks, like he nearly always is, but he has the top two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves are rolled up. It’s probably the best attempt at dressing casual she’s ever going to get from him.

He’s appraising her as well, but she swears he blushes when she meets his eyes.

“Please, look at me. I did dress like this for our date, after all.”

Their waiter approaches just then and Stannis clears his throat. Sansa thinks that flustered Stannis is somehow very attractive.

She knows exactly what she’s going to order, but Stannis takes a few minutes, so she sips on her Arnold Palmer and asks him how work was.

“When people ask that, they often don’t want the actual answer. Do you want the truth, or the usual reply?”

His eyes are piercing, his face betraying nothing of his current mood.

“The actual answer, of course. I wouldn’t ask you a stupid small talk question, Stannis. I _have_ known you for quite some time.” Sansa smiles at him, watching the way his fingers tap on his menu.

“It was exhausting and I am glad that I do not have much to do this weekend,” he says frankly.

“Same,” Sansa replies absentmindedly. “I mean, I completely understand what you mean and I hope that you don’t think I’m a foolish young person for reverting to slang occasionally.”

Stannis quirks an eyebrow. “I have a teenage daughter. I infinitely prefer proper grammar and formal use of the English language, but it marches on and becomes a new thing every day, so I hardly think chastising you would accomplish anything.”

“But if I say less instead of fewer, you’ll still get on my case?” She hopes that her smile is enough to let him know she’s being playful.

“I will correct you, yes.”

His jaw clenches, and she thinks for a moment that he’s going to get super serious and going back to his place afterwards will be out of the question. But then he continues, and she relaxes a little.

“I don’t believe most young women wish to discuss grammar on a date,” he says.

“Well,” Sansa smiles again. “If you insist.”

The waiter reappears then, so they order, and she starts telling him about her first job at a florist in the middle of summer when she was sixteen. She’s halfway through her boss’s inability to regulate the air conditioning when she realizes that he hasn’t looked away from her once the entire time she’s been talking.

She blushes, the realization that he’s being genuinely attentive to what she’s saying more romantic than any nice date she’s ever been on. Stannis meets her eyes and holds them until she feels like her skin is itchy and too hot and she has to look away.

Sansa finishes her story rather lamely, distracted by the way he won’t stop looking at her- steadily, with a hint of something that might be heat, but his self-control is ironclad, because she knows how to read a man who wants her, and he’s barely showing a thing.

Their food arrives, and she busies herself unwrapping her chopsticks for a distraction.

“I never could figure them out,” Stannis says, picking up his fork.

“It took me a few tries to get the hang of them, but my mom helped me. I think I was eleven?” She scoops a mouthful of rice into her mouth, hoping that the subject of parents isn’t too touchy. But he watched his parents die, so he does have every right to be touchy about it, no matter how long ago it was.

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything about parents. “Shireen can use chopsticks quite well. She tells me that I’m bad at using them because I’m old.”

“You’re not _that_ old,” Sansa says.

“She teases me because I’m going gray.” He looks at her, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Shireen is private. Probably more than I am. Do not tell anyone I said that.”

“Your relationship with your daughter is a sacred thing. I understand that. I think I’d be mortified if half the stuff I talk about with my parents got out.”

He quirks a half-smile. “Thank you.”

They manage to talk about a myriad of things besides grammar or his daughter, and she thinks that she never imagined Stannis to be such a good conversationalist. He doesn’t approach topics like other people, but he manages to make the most interesting insights about the most mundane of things.

Sansa waits until they’re both nearly done to broach the subject of the check. “We’re splitting it,” she says. “We can bother about paying for each other later, but first date, I pay half.”

He opens his mouth, and she’s sure he’s going to object- traditionalist that he is- but instead he says, “If that’s your preference.”

“It is,” she says, and pulls her card out.

She follows him back to his apartment, not having been there before. She’s a little nervous, if she’s honest with herself, but that’s only because she’s never had sex on the first date before. This is Stannis, though. He’s not about to treat her like trash- for any reason, much less when she wants to have sex with him.

He waits for her to park and asks if she’d like some tea or anything once they’re inside. She says yes to tea, waiting to make her move until she’s had a chance to settle some. His apartment is spartan for the most part, but he tells her Shireen crocheted the blanket on the couch and is also responsible for the watercolor paintings hanging in the hall and living room.

After she has her tea and he’s sitting next to her on the couch, a decent- but not too large- amount of space between them, he speaks.

“You mentioned chess?” There’s a question he’s asking, one that he won’t exactly say, and Sansa wouldn’t expect him to.

“Strip chess,” Sansa says. Her smile broadens. “Every time you lose a piece, an item of clothing goes.”

Stannis stares at her. Swallows. Licks his lips. “I’m not opposed to that.”

“Of course you aren’t,” she laughs. “Where’s your set?”

He walks over to a door off his kitchen. “In Shireen’s room right now. We played last night.”

She sips her tea and waits, thinking that she’s finally going to test Marg’s insistent theory that older men have better stamina and therefore it’s always better having sex with them. Assuming, of course, that Stannis takes her blatant invitation for what it is. He’s so in control, he might just sit there and watch her take her bra off without doing a thing.

Cersei said something once about Stannis being a sexless robot who was impossible to seduce, but Sansa is certain that Cersei’s attempts to seduce him being rebuffed had everything to do with Cersei initiating them. He has never liked Cersei and makes no secret of it, which Sansa admires, really.

He emerges with the set in his hands and sets it on his coffee table. “I believe it’s my turn to start,” he says, pulling out the drawer with all the pieces in it.

“Yes,” Sansa says, determining to make him lose a pawn as soon as possible.

He ditches his belt first, because of course he does.

“You’re copping out,” Sansa says, and pulls her sweater over her head when he takes one of her pawns. The noise Stannis makes is something between a groan and a choked off curse. Sansa smiles. She’s got him.

His eyes keep flickering from her chest to the board to her face and back again. He’s distracted enough she knocks one of his knights over easily. “Pay up,” she smirks.

Stannis swallows and begins to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers. He’s wearing an undershirt, like she expected him to, but it fits him well and she has a nice view of his arms now. Sansa makes an appreciative noise and quickly takes another of his pawns so he’ll be forced to do something semi-daring.

Except he takes his socks off.

“Oh, come on,” she says exasperatedly. “You’ve got to give me something.”

He smiles, just a little bit, and takes her bishop four turns later, but only because she lets him.

“If you’re going to play that game,” she says, leaning down so Stannis has an eyeful of her cleavage, “I am too.” She rolls her tights down under her skirt so her legs are bare, but she’s not showing anything he hasn’t seen before.

“Sansa.” His voice is low and a little dangerous sounding. A thrill runs through her and she meets his eyes, curious as to what exactly he’s going to say. “What happens when one of us wins?”

“Well,” she smirks. “I think loser gets to go down on the other.”

His jaw clenches again. She’s beginning to recognize it as a sign of trying to gain control of himself. It’s a heady rush, knowing she can make Stannis Baratheon need to control himself so often.

“Fair enough,” he replies.

She manages to take his queen while he’s busy swallowing at the sight of her breasts nearly spilling out of her bra.

“Shirt or pants?” She asks, tapping her chin with the piece.

Stannis makes a face, but pulls his shirt over his head.

“Oh, _hello._ ”

He’s not built like some guys Sansa’s seen, but he has abs and very clearly defined muscles. He looks _strong_ and very fit. He seems a little self-conscious, though, shifting in his chair like he wants to put his shirt back on.

“Stannis, if I had known you looked that good underneath your shirt, I would have stripped naked ages ago.”

Sansa figures being frank might help put him more at ease. She wants to see his back, because if the front looks this nice, she bets the back is just as good. But she thinks asking him to turn for her might be going too far, so she crosses her legs in an attempt to ease the ache in her groin and takes a sip of her lukewarm tea.

He swallows- he seems to be doing a lot of that, swallowing- and clears his throat. “I-” He can’t even start his sentence properly, and she thinks that she likes flustered Stannis very much. “You are-”

She waits patiently, knowing that she’s going to be able to beat him no problem when she’s got him all strung out like this. She’s already wondering exactly how methodical he’s going to be when he eats her out. He’s hard, which he has been for a bit now, but she wonders if he knows exactly how wet she is right now. Maybe- maybe her panties are going next.

“Not being able to speak is quite a compliment,” Sansa says, finally having pity on him. “Thank you.”

Again, his jaw muscles flex.

She doesn’t need the pawn Stannis takes, but she does absolutely want to see the look on his face a hundred times over when she slips her underwear down her legs and places it next to the board. She adjusts the fabric so he can tell exactly how much she’s aching to touch herself before intently deciding on her next move.

He keeps swallowing when she looks at him, as if there’s something stuck in his throat. If she thought she broke him in Robert’s study, he’s an absolute wreck now.

Sansa pulls her hair down, placing bobby pins next to her panties, her hair tie on top of the pile. Her hair is halfway down her back, and she knows how much men love it. Stannis is no different. He’s hardly looking at the board now, and she smiles because his lost bishop means that his pants are going.

His hands fumble slightly as he stands and awkwardly unzips them. She knows he probably feels a little self-conscious about this, but this is- without a doubt- the single most erotic thing she’s ever done, and she is not looking away for anything.

Sansa hums in appreciation once he’s in his boxers and sitting again. “I think,” she says slowly, “That I should have you strip for me more often.”

Stannis clears his throat, not exactly meeting her eyes. “I return the sentiment.” His voice is hoarse and deep, unmistakably aroused.

Gods, she might be soaking through her skirt. She needs to finish this damn game so she can get his mouth on her.

She absolutely has to sacrifice a rook to win at this point, though. There’s no way around it. Stannis has a gleam in his eye as his long fingers wrap around her rook and remove it from the board.

“Bra,” he says, some measure of strength back in his voice.

“As you wish.” Sansa flutters her eyelashes and reaches behind her back to unclasp it, pulling it down her arms in a practiced motion. Her breasts aren’t exactly large, but they’re perky and she has nice nipples, so she’s not about to ask for his approval.

He gives it anyways, a long look and sharp inhale that’s more a compliment than any of her boyfriends ever gave her.

Finishing the game isn’t hard after that. Stannis is far too distracted by her breasts, which might have been amusing if she wasn’t so ready for him to do _something_ to her. She takes his other knight when she places him in check, which means he’s about to be sitting naked in front of her, and she has to bite back a groan of her own at the thought.

She’s visibly panting when he slowly pulls his boxers down, his cock leaking onto his stomach.

“Fuck this,” she says. She knocks over his king. “Checkmate in three moves, anyways.” Sansa stands, unzipping her skirt and tugging it down, leaving it in a puddle on the floor. “You owe me head.”

He stands too, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he is uncertain how she wants to start. She walks over to him and pulls him down to kiss her, hard and filthy and everything she’s been waiting for.

“Now,” she says, her breathing heavy as she pulls away. “I won.”

“You were about to,” he corrects, his own breathing erratic, his hips bucking into her stomach of their own volition.

“Don’t argue with me about technicalities.” Sansa looks up at him, grinding back against him in the same motion. His pupils are completely blown, and she’s pretty certain he’s never looked hotter in his entire life. “Are you going to eat me out on the couch or in bed?”

She doesn’t think either of them have the ability to make it to his bedroom, but she might as well offer him the choice.

“Get on the couch,” Stannis nearly growls.

He _is_ methodical about it- has her arching into his mouth within seconds and coming in barely a minute, his hands on her hips, his tongue relentless.

She can hardly speak she comes so hard, but she does manage to pant out “Condom” before Stannis does more than grind into his couch. A panicked look crosses his face, and she realizes- slowly, because her brain still hasn’t come completely down- that he never actually expected to get this far with her this quickly.

“Oh gods,” she huffs. “I’ve got a couple in my purse.”

Sansa hauls herself up and walks on legs made of jelly over to her purse on the counter. She turns around, condom in hand, and nearly collapses onto his lap.

Stannis tears the package open and rolls it on, hissing at his own touch. “How,” he pants, palming her ass, sliding her hips forward so his cock nudges her still swollen clitoris, “Do you want to do this?”

“You on top,” she says, clambering off of him to lay down.

He’s on her nearly immediately, pushing her legs up and pressing into her hurriedly. She doesn’t blame him, after all that foreplay. He knows what he’s about, though, and waits until she’s gasping before he settles into a steady rhythm.

Stannis looks- he looks like she’s unlocked something primal in him. Sansa doesn’t think that he’s prone to having sex on his couch after the first date, or playing strip chess. But gods, whatever she’s loosed, she does not want to lock up again. For all his reticence, the man knows how to fuck.

He reaches a hand down to touch her when his rhythm starts to falter, intent on bringing her off again. “Can you come again?” he asks, his voice raw and absolutely the sexiest thing she’s ever heard. “I want to feel you come,” he says, his fingers pushing into her clit insistently.

Sansa reaches her hand down to show Stannis what she likes, to guide his fumbling fingers. “Like that,” she says breathlessly, feeling her orgasm begin to tighten in her hips. She always comes quicker the second time, and his fingers are just as nice as she thought they would be.

He’s watching her fall apart beneath him, and she can’t help but tug him in for a kiss right before she shatters. He buries his head in her shoulder as he follows her over the edge, pulling her body into his over and over again.

She likes the weight of him on her, but her legs are at an odd angle and she has to push him off after a minute.

Stannis pinches the bridge of his nose between this thumb and his forefinger after removing the condom and tying it off, his breathing not quite normal yet. “Sansa, please tell me that I didn’t just imagine this.”

She hauls herself up to a sitting position, closing her eyes against the image of their clothing strewn across the floor and her panties still sitting on the coffee table. “You didn’t,” she replies.

“It was good?” he asks.

Sansa laughs and opens her eyes. “You made me come twice and you’re asking me if it was good? Yes, Stannis. It was very good. Better than good. Incredible, even.”

His chest is flushed with what’s probably embarrassment. “I don’t presume to think I’m good at sex,” he says slowly. “I wanted to make sure that you enjoyed it.”

She leans against him, her hair falling over his shoulder and chest. “Stannis, that was probably the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. Not the best sex of my life I don’t think, but certainly up there. We could always go again,” she says slyly, her hand resting on his thigh.

Stannis groans a little and removes her hand. “I’m not a teenager.”

“No, you are most certainly not.” She looks up at him. “We should do this again.”

“What part?”

“All of it. Chess, sex, dating, stripping. You name it, I want to do it with you.”

He kisses her softly, his hand cupping her cheek. “I’m still not sure that this is real,” he says quietly.

“Just how long have you wanted me?”

Stannis stiffens beside her, obviously uncomfortable.

“Listen,” she says. “I’m curious. I promise I won’t be mad.”

“Seventeen,” he finally grits out. He won’t meet her eyes when she pulls away from him slightly.

“Stannis, the way you’re acting, I was fourteen and barely out of puberty. That long, though?”

“I never would have done anything,” he says hurriedly. “Never. And you always had a boyfriend, and you were so _young_ that I never-” he breaks off his sentence and stares at her underwear on his coffee table. “I’m going to have to clean half my living room.”

“I’ll help you,” Sansa replies smoothly. “And I’m not young anymore. Well. Not _that_ young. It’s fine, Stannis. I’m flattered, really.”

She likes the way he doesn’t properly laugh, just makes a noise that’s an approximation of it. It’s subtle and so _Stannis_ she thinks she’s going to stick around for a very long time so she can hear it as often as possible.

This could feel very awkward, but it doesn’t, and she feels very grateful for that. They sit, naked, until Stannis groans and peels his body off the couch. “Do you want a shower?” he asks, bending down to gather her clothes into a pile. He hesitates for a moment before picking her underwear up. “I can do laundry too?”

Sansa smiles. “You don’t have to bother about laundry, but thank you, I would like a shower. Are you going to offer to rub my feet next?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to rub your feet?”

“Not particularly, no.”

When she emerges from his shower, wrapped in a towel and nothing else, he’s wearing his undershirt and boxers again. “Would you like to stay?” he asks, his eyes flicking over her exposed legs.

“I can’t,” Sansa says regretfully. “I promised my mom I would help her rearrange the living room tomorrow morning, and if I show up in tonight’s clothes, she’s going to know instantly. She’s probably already going to know, but if I can make it less weird, I’m going to.”

Stannis gives her her clothes. “I understand. When would- When can I see you again?”

“If you’re not opposed, I can do next Wednesday? Will you have Shireen?” Sansa has her underwear in her hand, not particularly inclined to put it back on now that her arousal is starting to dry in it.

"Yes. Her mother has her weekends. That would continue to be a good time for me.”

“Okay. You’ll just have to text me a bunch.” She decides that she’s not putting her underwear back on. She can go commando until she gets home. “Do you want my underwear?”

His hands fist on his thighs. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” she says. “Take it. I don’t want to put it back on, and I like the thought of you thinking about me.”

Stannis blushes a little bit at what she’s implying, but he takes her panties from her hand anyways.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’ll text, you though, and we can call again or something.” Sansa runs her hands through her hair, wondering if she should have bothered to wash it or not. _Oh well,_ she thinks, and drops her towel, intending to get dressed.

The look on his face makes her wonder if she should have gone into the bathroom.

“Sansa,” he says slowly. “If you’d like to leave, I suggest that you remove yourself to the bathroom.”

“Mm,” she replies, pretending to think about it as she starts to roll her tights up her legs. “Maybe I’m fine right here.”

Stannis stands up, her panties still clenched in his fist. “You said you wanted to leave.”

“I do.” Sansa reaches for her skirt and starts to shimmy into it. “I just figured I’d give you a show to make up for no round two.”

“I see,” he grits out. He’s looking at her oddly, not down at her breasts, but straight into her eyes. “You’re a minx,” he says finally, turning to leave.

She clasps her bra and pulls the straps over her shoulders. “Next time, let’s spend the day together.”

He turns back, an eyebrow raised.

“And then sex at my place afterwards. We could make it to an actual bed this time.” Her eyes twinkle.

“Was it a problem that we never made it to a bed?” Stannis asks, genuine concern in his voice.

Gods, Sansa wants to grab him by the face and kiss him. “Of course not. I would have said something.” She pulls her sweater over her head, pulling her hair out and over her shoulders. “Now kiss me and give me something to think about for a week.”

He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you can’t tell, flustered!Stannis is my favorite.
> 
> 2\. Re: the grammar conversation. Stannis is definitely a stickler for “proper” language, but he also has a teenage daughter. My dad told me a hundred times over to speak properly and whatever when I was younger, and it did jack shit to convince me I should. (Same with swearing. Yeah dude. Fuck that.) And it’s not at all a reflection of my education or intelligence, so. Stannis is going to twitch but he won’t exactly get nasty about it. 
> 
> 2b. Stannis is still confused about what exactly “the void” refers to so he asks Shireen. She then tries to explain existential nihilism to him in the context of internet humor and he doesn’t exactly get it.
> 
> 3\. It is a truth universally acknowledged that Stannis is insecure but also a sex god. 
> 
> 3b. Also, I’m weird about writing smut and if this reads awkwardly it’s because I write it twice a year while I look at my laptop sweating, thinking that every sentence is the stupidest thing I’ve ever written, ok? Ok thanks I’m going to go back to my homework cave now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue of sorts. I tried to start it like eight times and then I realized what it really needed was some Stannis POV.

Stannis can’t stop looking at Sansa tonight. Not that he usually places his attention elsewhere while with her. It’s the presence of the box in his pocket that feels like a weight too heavy to bear without reassuring himself that she’s still looking at him like she wants to be here.

Maybe proposing to her is a foolish move. She’s said that their age gap isn’t a issue for her, that she loves living with him and Shireen. She’s said nothing about marriage, though.

Shireen likes her being part of their lives, which was what he was most worried about, but his daughter isn’t the one who’s going to propose. It’s Stannis, if he can actually get the words out.

Sansa smiles at him. “Are you alright? You seem a little distracted.”

He could just put the box on the table right now and tell her he’s nervous because he wants to spend the rest of his life with her and he’s had the ring for two months and a half-dozen chances to propose and-

He’s not putting the box on the table right now.

“I’m fine,” he says. 

She doesn’t believe him, because he’s not in love with an idiot. “Stannis,” she says reprovingly. “What is it?”

Sansa is always prodding him gently, twisting the cords around his comfort zone into neat knots and stepping through them easily. He shouldn’t like it as much as he does, but it shows she cares.

She insisted on coloring books and a movie last night, to which Stannis had huffed and refused, but Shireen had watched Sansa tell him in a tone that brooked no arguments that it was good for stress and he could use some relaxing.

It actually was relaxing, something he had grudgingly admitted to her after they were in bed that night.

“Of course it was,” she had replied, and pulled his arm a little tighter around her torso. 

Stannis picks up his fork for something to do, even though he’s nearly finished and quite full. “I-” he starts. “It’s a surprise.” 

Probably the stupidest possible thing he could have said. Sansa is going to be even more suspicious now. He doesn’t do surprises, unless it’s bringing her flowers. 

“Lilies?” She asks jokingly. “Or are you branching out into azaleas? Snapdragons, maybe?”

“Actually, I was thinking of tulips.” He smiles, just a little, but whether he’s attempting to put her at ease or himself, he’s not entirely certain.

Stannis wants a nice proposal for her. He knows it’s not going to be as perfect as he’d like, because Sansa slips through every measure of his self-control he dares to erect. She turns him into a man who can barely form a proper sentence, even after all this time. But he loves her all the same.

Gods, does he love her. He loves her in a way that makes his bones ache. She is fire and laughter and elegance and he wants her presence every second of his days. He has a photo of her in his wallet, for heaven’s sake.

“I’m taking you somewhere after dinner,” Stannis says suddenly, surprising even himself. It comes to him all in a rush: he’s going to take her outside the city until they can see the stars more clearly, and then he’s going to propose to her with exactly no one watching.

“Oh?” Sansa raises an eyebrow. “An actual surprise? From you? I don’t know whether to be happy or wonder if there’s something wrong.”

“Happy.” He tilts his head slightly in question. “Should I ask for a dessert menu?”

“I don’t know if I like secretive Stannis. It’s odd,” she replies. “But yes, I’ve been craving lemon meringue pie for a week.”

He motions for their waitress, but doesn’t stop looking at Sansa. “If it helps, you don’t need to worry about changing clothes or anything of the like.”

“Barely,” she says with a smile.

She orders her pie and then proceeds to try to weasel it out of him. She fails, but probably only because they can’t get naked in the middle of a diner. When Sansa’s naked, Stannis is fairly certain she could get him to tell her anything.

That’s the other thing: they’re at a diner.

Sansa had insisted on no fancy restaurants except maybe,  _ maybe, _ for anniversaries. She’d told him she’d been romanced by too many men interested in showing off their wealth and power. Expensive wine lists and menus without prices left a bad taste in her mouth, and that’s something that Stannis respects absolutely.

It’s odd, though, stepping foot in these places, where the service is downright friendly and the menus don’t have anything over twenty dollars on them. She did drag him into McDonald’s once, where he flatly refused to touch a single food item and did his best to avoid making contact with any surface. But the rest of the time, it’s actually nice to take a step down from the people he interacts with normally and the ease of living he has, and be among the masses. 

Sansa wears ponytails and baseball hats to these places sometimes, her worn tshirts fitting right in. Stannis sticks out like a sore thumb, because even the few pairs of jeans he owns are too nice to belong somewhere like here. She just laughs at him and tells him to never change, which means more than anything else a woman has ever said to him.

_ She _ means more to him than anyone besides Shireen. That’s enough to cut through his reticence and firm his resolve. He’s going to propose to the love of his life tonight.

Stannis watches her eat her pie with what must be an idiotic expression on his face, but she doesn’t mind, just asks him if he’d like to go with her and Shireen Monday night to see a movie.

He doesn’t even ask what movie, just says yes, because there is nothing he wants more than to be with his daughter and his hopefully soon-to-be fiancée. Except maybe his daughter and  _ wife. _

He swallows and asks their waitress for the check. He’s paying tonight.

Sansa finishes her pie leisurely, wrapping her mouth around her fork in a practiced motion to get all the sweetness off the metal. 

Stannis is reminded of a night so long ago when she did the very same thing right before she tried to get him to fuck her on Robert’s desk. He shifts in his chair, his pants feeling a little tight. 

“Hmm?” She raises both her eyebrows, likely knowing exactly what kind of discomfort she’s causing him. Minx.

“Cleaning your fork,” he says slowly. It’s the most intelligent thing he can think to say at this exact moment.

“Are you being a perv, Stannis?” 

Her voice is full of laughter, her hand light on his arm, but his stomach clenches at the knowledge that they’re in a restaurant full of people. The mom with her three kids two tables over has already shot him and Sansa several nasty looks since she realized that he wasn’t her father.

Stannis stands, reaching for her arm. “My love,” he says softly. He’s not one for endearments or overly affectionate displays, but there’s something about the way she looks when he mentions that he loves her that makes him call her that almost more than her own name. 

“Yes, darling?” She calls him all manner of things, but they have no less meaning for her.

He leans into Sansa, kissing her softly for a second, his thumb caressing her throat. “That woman has decided that we’re inappropriate for children or something of the sort.”

He steps back, conscious of the fact that they are not actually alone with said woman. Besides, if he does anything more affectionate in public, he might embarass himself badly.

Sansa smiles at him. “I’m all for saying fuck you to stupid people,” she says, and puts her hand in Stannis’ back pocket as they walk out the door.

She grins again when she sees that they’re leaving the city. “Gods, Stannis, if you wanted to kidnap me and drag me off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, you should have told me.”

“I am not kidnapping you,” he replies. Her sense of humor almost exactly matches his- dry, cutting, and often lost on people. “If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have even mentioned the surprise. Besides, three years is a long time to lull you into a false sense of security.”

“Are you revealing all this early? Stannis, I expected better from you.”

“Sansa, if you think I’m telling you everything, then you are sincerely mistaken.” He looks over at her for a brief moment, her face flushed with happiness in the dim light. 

Only a few more minutes, and there’s a field off the road that he’s driven by before. Thankfully, Sansa is wearing mostly practical boots with only a bit of heel, so he doesn’t have to worry about the recent rain and a possible mud disaster.

“Well, you’ll be telling me everything soon, right?” Her voice drops into something a little less playful.

“Of course,” Stannis replies, reaching over to put his hand on her knee. She places her hand on top of his and squeezes.

Sansa looks at him in question when he pulls over. “The surprise is a field in the middle of nowhere?”

“No,” he says curtly, and opens his door. 

She follows him around the car and away a couple of feet, obviously curious about why exactly he’s dragged her out here.

He tugs her body close against him and looks up, trying to gather the right words. “I wanted to look at the stars with you,” he says slowly, feeling as if everything he is saying is the most stupid thing he’s ever said.

“Stannis, you’re being far too mysterious to just look at the stars with me.” Sansa looks at him in the dim light, her facial features barely recognizable.

Stannis thinks that this might be easier if he wasn’t in love with a very smart woman. “I love you,” he says, figuring that’s as good a place as any to start. 

“I love you too.” He can hear the hint of mirth in her voice, that small tell that she’s amused by his “surprise.”

He should have put the ring in his left pocket. His right arm is wrapped around Sansa and he’ll have to remove it or do something awkward with his left to get the box out. This is not going the way he wanted it to.

Solution: pull her around in front of him so she can lean back against his torso and he can remove his arm- ostensibly to scratch an itch- and get the box.

Sansa doesn’t protest when he shifts her, just laughs a little. “You’re being particular tonight.”

Stannis pulls the box out with a hand that might be trembling a bit. Sansa turns him into a foolish mess half the time, no matter how much self-control he exercises. He hopes that this is that half of the time where he can actually get coherent sentences out.

He turns the box over in his hand. Kneeling is out of the question, but should he face her or not? Is he just going to ask her to marry him or attempt some sort of speech? Should he mention Shireen? 

Fuck.

Stannis thinks that no one ever talks about how difficult it actually is to propose and takes a deep breath.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says. There. A good start. 

“I know,” Sansa replies. “I do too.”

He blinks once, twice, three times. Was it that easy? Better safe than sorry, though. He clears his throat and brings his right arm around to grasp hers, pressing the box into her hand.

“I’m asking you to marry me, Sansa.”

Her fingers close around the box and she whirls to face him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Her teeth flash in the darkness as she smiles. “Of course I will, darling.”

Sansa kisses him then, long and sweet and like coming home. When she finally pulls away, she leans her forehead against his shoulder. 

“I thought you didn’t want to get married again.”

Stannis’ hand rests on the small of her back, tugging her body further into his. “I do.”

“I’m glad,” she says softly. “I mean, I told myself I was okay if you never wanted to get married again, and it’s been three years, so I didn’t-” She leans back. “I want to see the ring.”

They walk back to the car, Sansa practically hanging off of his arm. She insists on them both climbing into the back seat because apparently if you don’t make out like teenagers after getting engaged there’s no point- her words, not his.

She gasps at the topaz. “Stannis, it’s beautiful.” She hurriedly puts it on, sliding over her knuckles with ease. Stannis silently thanks Catelyn for her help with Sansa’s ring size.

“I didn’t think you wanted a diamond,” he says, almost sheepishly. 

“I didn’t.” She meets his eyes. “I love it. I love you. I can’t wait to marry you.” She wraps her hand- the one with his ring on it- around his neck and tugs him to her so she can kiss him.

A silly thing, to let her instigate car sex, when it’s usually terrible, but that’s exactly what Sansa is doing.

Stannis lets her, even though one or both of them are going to end up with a cramp and something might get on the seats. He lets her, because he loves this woman with fire in her veins and flowers on her tongue. He lets her, because he’s been completely head over heels for her since that first evening, when she had told him she was doing her  _ laundry _ while on the phone- when she had said nothing was more important than Shireen; when she had known exactly what she wanted from him, and he could give it.

He lets her.

Sansa bangs her head on the car door, Stannis loses feeling in one of his feet somehow, and he accidentally puts the hand that was inside her half a minute before on a headrest, smearing her arousal everywhere. She laughs and tugs him closer afterwards, whispering that she doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy in her entire life. He can’t help but agree.

“You make me feel young,” he whispers into her hair. She does. 

“You don’t make me feel old,” she replies, and smoothes the furrow between his brow with her thumb.

She wears gold when they get married, her gown shimmering as if she is the sun. White is for the girl who wanted Joffrey, she says, and wears flowers in her hair as if she is a goddess come to grace the earth.

Stannis thinks she is sometimes- never more than when she’s doing the most mundane things and she looks up to catch his eyes, his heart clenching in his chest until he can’t breathe because he is so captivated by her.

They honeymoon on the coast. Whether or not they play inordinate amounts of strip chess is no one’s business but their own, and it’s not like they don’t go outside every night to watch the sun set and the stars rise above their head.

He doesn’t think he could be more in love with Sansa than he already is, but she’s his  _ wife _ now, and that just makes him call her his love a hundred times over again. She kisses him every time he says it, leaning into him as if she wants nothing more than to feel him against her.

They get a house, a little cottage for the three of them with a big yard and a garden for Sansa. There’s a dog, too, that Sansa and Shireen decide to call Molly, even though Stannis insists that diminutives aren’t proper- but Molly doesn’t respond to Mary, so Sansa smiles at him very smugly for at least a week.

They’re happy together- something neither of them ever really thought they would have. His hair goes gray before her’s does, but he already had a head start, as she likes to tease him. Shireen rolls her eyes and offers to dye her own hair gray if it will make her dad feel better. 

Arya calls Sansa and Stannis a power couple because they devote their lives to their work. Bran says that they’re perfect for each other, in that knowing way he has. Rickon says they’re kind of creepy, the way they hardly talk to each other in the company of others but have long conversations with only their eyes.

Their chess games are no less heated than they were at the beginning of their relationship, but Jon and Arya tell them to get a room half the time now that they know. Catelyn still makes eyebrows at them every time they’re at a family gathering together, but it’s not quite as terrible because they’re wear each other’s rings and go home to each other every night. Ned is just glad that his daughter is happy. 

And Robb? Robb ends up in the same camp as his godfather, perplexed at exactly how Stannis and Sansa got together. He still has a question on his face when they’re all together, but neither Stannis nor Sansa are going to talk about the way they started. Robert tries for years, convinced that there’s something he needs to know, but Sansa just smiles enigmatically and Stannis clenches his jaw, tight-lipped as ever.

They’re happy. That’s what matters. That’s  _ all _ that matters.

(Except maybe winning strip chess, but that’s directly related to being happy, so maybe it’s a moot point.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a giant flower nerd, but I think it’s more fun when you find out for yourself what they mean, so if you’re so inclined, I’d invite you to look up the flowers I mentioned. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
